


Sick Day (AKA 'How Sickness Makes Cass Admit More Than She Wanted To')

by reellifejaneway



Series: The Accidental OTP: A Saints Row AU [3]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra Davenport, Boss of the Third Street Saints, catches a cold and feels perfectly miserable. That is, until Morgan Prescott turns up to make her day unexpectedly brighter. </p>
<p>Much fluff, such feels. Cassandra Davenport belongs to knightcommanderalenko. M!Morgan Prescott belongs to me (reellifejaneway). The world of Saints Row and Steelport belongs to Volition Inc. and Deep Silver. I'm just a fangirl who can't let go...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day (AKA 'How Sickness Makes Cass Admit More Than She Wanted To')

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knightcommanderalenko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcommanderalenko/gifts).



> @knightcommanderalenko sent me the prompt: "I’d like it if you stayed." and "Can I kiss you?" for the accidental otp? :3
> 
> Confused much? So were we. But if you'd like some context, this AU happened when two crazy friends began playing co-op.... and then somehow decided that our characters were perfect for a new ship. Do we regret a thing? Well... Sometimes. But not really. (We are more than aware of our collective fuck-up.)

Cass sniffled, her eyes watering for the umpteenth time that evening. Cursing, she snatched up yet another tissue, and muttering to herself, cast it aside as furiously as the rest of the balled-up tissues now lying in a small pile beside the sofa.

She hated being sick. No, ‘hate’ was too kind a word. Cass Davenport resented weakness, and to say that having a cold made her grumpy was an understatement. To make matters worse, this particular virus had left her achy, exhausted, and far too dizzy with congestion to even move far around her apartment.

So the couch had become her headquarters for the day.

She doubted the Saints would much mind nor notice the fact that their Boss was currently cooped up watching old movies and single-handedly tearing through boxes of Kleenex. After all, there were plenty among the crew who would know how to pick up on where Cass had left off. At least for 48 hours while she recuperated.

God knows though, Morgan Prescott was _not_ one of them.

Cass groaned defeatedly and leaned back against the leather cushions. It had been more than a week since he’d come to see her at her apartment. More than a week since she’d taken a risk and kissed him, and he’d kissed her back. More than a week since she’d woken up in his arms for the first time… And over a week since she’d had the courage to look him in the eye.

_Those sweet silver eyes._

The man had the heart of a devoted puppy, and it pained her. Seeing him grow more and more dejected was something she wasn’t quite prepared for. But starting a relationship? Allowing herself to care again when she’d lost the people she loved before…?

It was such a huge risk. But that night was firmly ingrained in her memory, and the emotions she felt when Morgan was close were just far too volatile to control.

Given how awful she felt already, Cass was absolutely not ready to deal with that today.

She cringed and reached for another Kleenex just as a sneeze racked her.

“Fuck my life.”

Another wadded tissue, another line of Cary Grant’s dialogue that she’d missed. Cass groaned and straightened the blanket over her pajama-clad legs. Not that it truly mattered. She knew this film backwards and could probably recite it in reverse to boot.

It was the knock on the apartment door that threw her.

Cass’ eyes widened, glancing between the mess on the floor and the front entryway, torn.

“Hey, Cass?” She could just make out the familiar voice, somewhat muffled through the wood. “Are you okay?”

She let out a screech and rolled off the sofa, scrambling to collect all the tissues. “Uh, yeah! Just fine!”

There was an uncomfortable pause as she stumbled dizzily to her feet. Tissues clutched to her chest, she raced to the bin to dispose of the evidence, then slid back across the polished floors in her socks to grab her blanket. No way in hell was she opening that door looking like this.

“Cass?”

“Just a second!”

Red curls hurriedly knotted back in a bun, blanket thrown around her shoulders to cover her clothes, followed by an unsteady gait as she rushed to unlock the door.

“What is it? Did something go wrong with the advertising deal—?” She paused mid-sentence when her eyes landed on a bouquet of pink roses. “Oh.”

Morgan cleared his throat nervously, his infectious smile dazzling against the contrast of his navy suit. “Did I come at a bad time?”

_Fuck._ Cass blushed, remembering the last time he _came_ …

“I… I guess I did.” He frowned slightly, his broad shoulders drooping. “I just, uh. I heard you weren’t feeling great and wanted to brighten your ‘quarantine’ a little.”

Cass couldn’t help but stare at the dashing white-haired figure standing in her hallway. After a week of near silence, her barely being able to say hello to him in the elevator, and yet here he stood: as charming as ever, presenting her with some of the finest blooms she’d seen. Did the man _ever_ have a bad hair day? Did he ever just look as though he’d fallen out of bed, hungover and bleary-eyed, or did this flawlessness just _happen naturally_?

_Fucking men and their fucking perfect faces._

She almost wanted to deck him for it.

Because here she was, flushed, probably red-nosed and riddled with fever. Cass didn’t even know how she was standing, and she must have been quite the sight wearing her loose tee shirt and pants from the night before. Even the blanket couldn’t conceal it. Not that it truly mattered; Morgan had seen her in far less.

_I must look atrocious._

“Actually, you look rather adorable.” Morgan’s cheeks turned an uncharacteristic shade of pink, and he held out the flowers bashfully. “I’m sorry for intruding. I can uh, see that you’re alive, so I… I shall leave you to recover in peace.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Fog descended behind her eyes; a heaviness settling in her head that forced her to lean against the door frame to remain upright. _Goddamn colds._

He handed her the bouquet, his fingertips brushing hers as he did so. He turned away and Cass vaguely heard him murmur, “ _Get a grip on yourself, Prescott._ ”

“Wait!”

Morgan spun on his heel, brows knitted in confusion. She signalled for him to wait as the urge to sneeze intensified — and then ebbed away just as quickly.

“Sorry,” Cass sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I uh… I love the flowers.” Then, with a blush that was _definitely_ not from the cold, she added, “Thank you, Morgan.”

A genuine smile, so soft it made his eyes wrinkle slightly, appeared. “You’re very welcome.”

“Would you like to come in?” She gestured over her shoulder, “I can’t make any promises about the condition of the place though. Haven’t exactly been able to move around much today.”

Morgan accepted with a nod, “Well in that case, it sounds like you could use some company. At least for a little while until you’re more comfortable.”

The moment he stepped inside, he busied himself in the kitchen. The kettle began to boil, mugs laid out on the counter, toast cooking with a delightful smell… Cass couldn’t believe it. Morgan Prescott looked so at home in her apartment that she almost could have believed he had known her for a lifetime.

The thought somehow seemed more appealing than the reality — and she found herself wishing that this charming and ridiculous man hadn’t just spent a single night and day in her bed.

She put a hand to her suddenly achy chest and returned wearily to the couch.

“Hey,” Morgan’s arms clasped her then, gently helping to steady her as she sank onto the cushions. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you’re comfortable here?”

“Well I’m not going to make it to the bed, so…” Cass shrugged and closed her eyes.

_Make it to bed._ They hadn’t exactly made it to the bed the last time they’d found themselves alone here either…

_Shit. Stop thinking about that night, you idiot._

“I could help you,” that velvet baritone sounded from above her, and her gaze flickered up to find Morgan smiling down at her sympathetically.

Cass moaned. “This might be the one time that if you carried me, I might actually thank you for it.”

He laughed, that brilliant smile flashing back into existence once more. “Deal.”

Then, warm strong arms slipped beneath her and bundled her up, aching limbs, blanket and all, against Morgan’s chest. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would actually be able to carry her. She wasn’t light, but he was no featherweight either, and the fact that he had held her against a wall during their lovemaking should have been an attestation to the fact. Somehow her tired brain had forgotten that fact.

But now Cass was reliving it — in vivid detail.

She must have mumbled something in her medication-addled state, because Morgan chuckled as he strode down the hall.

“Having good dreams already?”

Breathing deep, inhaling the rich musky scent that was so distinctly Morgan, Cass nuzzled against his chest and sighed. _You should know_ _… You’re in them._

She didn’t realise that she’d spoken the words aloud. Neither did she see the way Morgan’s gaze softened with unspoken tenderness.

He set her down on the bed as softly as he could, tugging the bunched-up blankets from where she’d left them at the foot of the bed, and draping them over her shoulders. Cass shivered faintly.

“Would you like another blanket?” Morgan asked, bending down to smooth the curls that had gotten loose away from her forehead.

Instead, her cool hand reached out and grasped his. “No.”

“Tea maybe? It might help you sleep.”

“No.”

He laughed, the sound coming like music in a previously lonely, grey room. “Well I can’t get you anything if you refuse to let go, Cass.”

“I’d… I’d like it if you stayed.”

She couldn’t quite believed she’d said the words until they were out. The pause that followed only made her wish she could wake up and realise everything had been a sickness-induced dream. But instead, she heard a jacket being tossed aside and the bed beside her dipped with weight. Familiar arms enveloped her. This time, she knew it was no dream — she knew this embrace so well already. And somehow it worked more miraculously than any over-the-counter drug.

Another thought occurred and Cass’ eyes flew open. “But what if you get sick too?”

Morgan caressed her cheek, holding her close. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll live.”

“But the advertising campaign—”

He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t worry. I organised all of that before I came here. Why do you think I took so long?”

Cass blinked sleepily. “You marvellous idiot.”

“That’s me. Idiot wonderboy of the year.” Morgan winked. “Cass?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

She tilted her head back against the pillow and smiled in earnest. “If you accept that in doing you will inevitably contract my cold…” Cass twined her arms around his neck, “Then yes, you may.”

Even long after the kiss had ended, and their embrace had resumed a relaxed, sleepy posture, Cass’ lips still curved in a smile. If this was one of the perks that came with allowing somebody back into her heart? Then maybe, somehow, she could justify the risk.

_Hell. I might even get used to it._


End file.
